


'Til Journey's End

by odyssxus



Series: To the Waters and the Wilds [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Title - Thranduil is a Troll and Aragorn in Suffering, Bonding, But mostly fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fellowship Shennanigans, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Kinda AU, Platonic Relationships, Sea-longing, The Three Hunters, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, You know they got into trouble all travelling together let's be real
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-07-29 18:57:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20087149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odyssxus/pseuds/odyssxus
Summary: 01. With Sauron defeated Aragorn thought nothing in Middle Earth could scare him anymore.  Until he heard that King Thranduil would be visiting the White City.  He wondered if he should update his will.02.  After the council of Elrond Gloin decides to meet Legolas, the elf who will be accompanying his son to Mordor. It does not go how he expected. Aragorn would just like to get down from the tree, thank you very much.





	1. When the Dust Settles

**Author's Note:**

> This series is directly related to my other story "On the Nature of Daylight", in which I focus on Legolas and Thranduil, mostly when Legolas is a young child, and in which I also expand on my headcanons for Legolas' family tree. I mention it here, briefly, but nothing is canon as the professor gave us pretty much nothing. Therefore, I took artistic licence. A lot of could work, I think, though understand if you headcanon something different. Basically, Oropher and Celeborn are first cousins, and Oropher married a daughter of King Ingwe. Legolas' mother in this little 'verse is a Silvan elf, one who lived in the forests of Greenwood long before Oropher settled there. So he's ¼ Vanyar, ¼ Sindar, and ½ Silvan.

Aragorn thought he could handle anything. He had wandered the wilds as a ranger, asked Elrond for his daughter's hand in marriage, gone on a perilous quest to destroy Sauron's Ring, fought at the Battle of the Hornburg and in Pelennor fields. He had walked the Paths of the Dead and approached the Gates of Mordor itself. But this… this was undoubtedly the most terrifying moment of his life.

Thranduil was coming to visit Minas Tirith. His message indicated he would be arriving that very evening.

It was nearly a year to the day that he had been crowned King of Gondor and Arnor, and though he did not see the need for a celebration (he did want a quiet one with his wife, however, as it was also the anniversary of their long awaited marriage) but his councillors had insisted, and his people were excited to celebrate the occasion, thrilled to be able to celebrate anything at all after living so long in the shadow of Mordor. Aragorn did not have it in him to refuse. He had sent invitations to all of his companions, and hoped dearly they would all be able to come. Legolas had arrived from Ithilien several days previously, and was out riding with the twins. They would likely be gone until after darkness fell, and therefore would not return until after King Thranduil arrived.

He had not expected the Elvenking to come, not really.

He had sent invitations to all the Elven realms of course, though assumed logically that only his foster father, the twins and Legolas would come. Thranduil, Celeborn, and Galadriel, had far too much to do then come to a human celebration for a measly year of Kingship. His foster father was due in several weeks time, having to aid several elves in sorting out their affairs before they sailed for Valinor. Celeborn had sent back a letter of apology promptly, though did hint that he at least would be visiting his granddaughter soon, even if his wife did not. Thranduil had sent no such letter, but Aragorn had not truly expected (nor wanted) a response. He still did not know if Thranduil blamed him for the events of the war. For taking Legolas away from him and into danger, taking him to the Gates of Mordor itself. He was not in a hurry to find out if he was to face the Elvenking's wrath or not.

Legolas, of course, insisted that his father would not be angry. That it had all been his own choice.

Legolas was also spoiled rotten, and Aragorn was sure Thranduil had never so much as raised his voice in anger at him. And if he had, Aragorn suspected Thranduil would have apologised immediately, no matter how much Legolas had deserved it.

Aragorn would not be so lucky. He had never seen the Elvenking angry. In fact the only negative emotion he'd ever seen Thranduil show was slight annoyance when he and Mithrandir had brought Gollum to Mirkwood all those years ago. But Thranduil… Thranduil was terrifying. He was ancient in a way no mortal could understand, and more beautiful than a human ever could be. The very air around him seemed to crackle with energy, and Aragorn had heard rumours that orcs would slit their own throats rather than approach him in battle. Anytime Aragorn met him, no matter the reason, he felt like a small child who had done something wrong. He was fierce and fell and had an intensity to him beyond what was normal for elves.

And Aragorn, Aragorn had not tried to stop Legolas from coming on the quest. Aragorn had led Thranduil's only child into danger. Aragorn had led Legolas to Pelargir where he had heard the gulls. Aragorn had convinced Legolas to leave the Greenwood to live in Ithilien.

Aragorn was sure he was going to be killed the moment the other King arrived.

His guards, strong as they were, would be no match for any elf, let along an enraged Thranduil. He might as well write his will now.

"My King?"

He shook himself out of his panicked thoughts, looking over to a concerned Faramir. "Yes?" he asked, voice nearly an octave higher than normal. He cleared his throat.

Faramir gave him a concerned, yet amused look. "Are you alright? Would you like me to call for some refreshments? You've gone rather… grey."

Aragorn did not doubt he had. He felt like he could be sick at any moment. Perhaps if he were ill, he would not have to meet with Thranduil until the morn. That way Legolas would meet his father first, and Thranduil could never be angry for long around his son. Elrond had told tales of how Thranduil's councillors had learned to bring Legolas with them if they needed to talk to their King about something that would potentially anger him.

He smiled, though was sure it came out as more of a grimace of pain. "I'm fine," he finally said. "Completely fine."

Faramir snorted. "That, my friend, is a lie. Whatever is the matter?"

Aragorn wordlessly handed his steward the delicate piece of paper, upon which was King Thranduil's seal. Faramir read the perfect Sindarin script quickly, before handing it back to Aragorn.

"I've read about King Thranduil," he said diplomatically. "He is said to be very firm."

Aragorn fought not to laugh. "He is one of the strongest elves to ever be," he said. "And also completely and utterly terrifying. If he blames me for Legolas joining the quest, I am doomed. I would rather face Sauron again." He wasn't even exaggerating, not really.

Faramir gave him another look, one that told Aragorn he did not understand the seriousness of the situation. He could not blame the other man, after all, he had met relatively few elves, and none nearly as intense or terrifying as Thranduil. Even Lord Celeborn, Thranduil's second cousin, did not radiate such danger. He had lived in the peace of Lorien for millennia after all, not in a realm that had fought against the Necromancer for centuries with no ring of power. And though Legolas and Faramir got along well, the other human was not as close to Legolas as Aragorn himself was, and therefore Thranduil would like him more.

Thranduil, Aragorn knew, disapproved entirety of Legolas and his friendship, knowing that it would one day bring his son grief. Not even the Blessed Realm could ease the pain of an eternal parting, and Thranduil would never forgive Aragorn for causing his beloved child any sorrow.

On that note, Aragorn best tell Gimli King Thranduil was due to arrive. It would be best for all involved if he hid for the duration of the visit. He rather liked his dwarven friend alive, and not skewered on the end of the Elvenking's sword.

Faramir stood, smiling down at him gently. Faramir had a very good smile, Aragorn noted. Good for calming people down. Perhaps he should meet Thranduil first. "I'm sure it will be fine Aragorn," the younger man said. "Legolas is one of the most joyous and kind beings I have ever met, I cannot see how he could have been raised by someone who causes you this much fear."

Aragorn stared at his friend for a long moment, feeling like he could cry. Faramir was, in many ways, correct. Legolas had been raised by a loving and doting father, one who would do anything to ensure his child was safe, happy, and loved. But that father turned into a dragon when he believed the situation warranted it. And Aragorn knew he would be furious beyond belief at the thought of his son having been led to danger.

He finally sighed. "You shall see Faramir," he promised, waving his friend from the room so he could try and come to terms with his imminent death. "You shall see."

** _###_ **

Thranduil rode through the gates of Minas Tirith just as the sun was beginning to set, staring straight ahead. This was the longest he had even been separated from his son, and he was desperate to see him again, to know with his own eyes that his child was safe and well. Two years, or thereabouts, was not so long even for a mortal, and to an elf it was normally but the blink of an eye. But two years without setting eyes on his son had been excruciating. Legolas had chosen to linger in Minas Tirith and then Ithilien after the War of the Ring, and Thranduil had given his blessing via letter. He knew Legolas would pine for his friends, and that the forests of Middle Earth, especially those in Ithilien, would be desperate for his attention. But letters, no matter how frequent, were not the same as seeing his son with his own eyes.

He ignored the humans staring at him and his party, allowing his attendants to smile and wave as needed. He did not care what the humans thought of him, if they were intimidated, confused, or interested. He was in Minas Tirith to see his son and see his son only. He had held his realm without aid from humans for thousands of years. Gondor may be powerful now, but it had also been powerful before and they had not had trade ties. They did not need them now.

And he was also here, once he was sure his little leaf was well, to have a talk with those who had thought it was a good idea to take him on such a foolhardy quest! He sincerely hoped that Elrond and Mithrandir were in attendance, though would settle for Estel.

After riding through the stone city (and how Thranduil's heart bled at the thought of his only child, his little greenleaf, in a city made of stone!) they made it at last to the highest level, where several men, Estel Elrondion among them, were waiting.

Estel looked, Thranduil noted with grim satisfaction, completely terrified. A man with brown hair and kind eyes glanced at him with confused concern before smiling at the party of elves.

"Mae Govannen, your Majesty," the stranger said, bowing at the waist. "Welcome to Minas Tirith, I hope your journey was uneventful. I am Faramir, Steward to King Elessar and Prince of Dol Amroth."

Thranduil leapt from his horse, landing without a sound. Estel jumped slightly, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He gave him a long look, before answering Faramir, looking at him with slight curiosity. Legolas would be spending a great deal of time with this human after all.

He inclined his head slightly, "Mae Govannen Prince Faramir," he said formally, before turning his attention to Estel. He looked, Thranduil noted, much healthier than the last time he'd seen him, when he and Mithrandir had brought Gollum to his realm. He had gained some weight, and seemed to be bathing regularly finally. He wore his hair loose, and a neat beard framed his tanned face. He was wearing relatively simple clothing for one of his station, but they were incredibly well made, in varying shades of blue and grey. This ranger had moved up in the world after all.

"Aran nin," Estel finally said, still looking rather ill at ease. "I am pleased you could come. Legolas, I know, will be incredibly happy to see you."

"And where is my son?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries. Some of the guards nearby looked surprised, but also much to nervous of this new and intimidating elf to say anything. Doubtless they were shocked at their King's obvious agitation, and wondering who exactly this interloper was.

Estel swallowed. "He and my brothers are out riding, Aran nin," he answered. "They should return shortly after supper. Would you like to be shown to your rooms? Or perhaps you would like a tour of the city?"

Thranduil raised a dark brow, smiling slightly, though there was no warmth in the expression. He had much to say to this mortal, but would let him stew in his fear for a while longer.

Suddenly a figure came out of one of the doors, causing the guards to stand to attention. Estel relaxed slightly, letting out a relieved breath, as his wife walked quickly towards the group. She ignored her husband and Faramir, and instead flung her slender arms around Thranduil's neck, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back just as hard, running a large palm down her dark waterfall of hair. He had known Arwen since her birth, and had watched her grow. He may wonder at her choice of husband, but would not question her. Not much at least.

"Hello penneth," he whispered softly. She tightened her grip briefly in return, feet nearly off the ground. She was tall, even for an elvish female, but nowhere near as tall as him. He set her down, smiling freely to her, and cupped her cheek in a large palm. She grinned up at him, the same way she had when she had been a mischievous toddler following Legolas around.

"Hello Thranduil," she smiled in return. "Come, I will give you a tour before Legolas and my brothers return and take all of your attention." She pulled him away, and he allowed it. She was no fool, and knew that he was furious at her husband, but she also knew he was patient. He would be in Minas Tirith for quite some time, and would have plenty of opportunities to speak to Estel. Arwen was more important anyway. He, along with those who had come with him, followed the Queen of Gondor, who led them around to another door. He listened to her talk, happy to hear her well.

Back in the courtyard, he heard Estel make a noise of complete and utter relief.

He smirked.

_ **###** _

Legolas smiled at the twins, waving them off when they asked if he wanted to stay up for a glass of wine. He wanted nothing more than to return to his rooms for a bath, before heading outside to sit and watch the stars. The sea longing hurt less when he was bathed in their light, listening to Elbereth's song. He knew they worried for him, as did their sister and the rest of his friends, but he wanted some time to himself.

He walked into his rooms, tossing his green cloak over a chair, before frowning slightly. It was almost as though…

He grinned, suddenly not quite so tired, and the sea longing did not seem nearly as strong. "Ada!"

His father laughed delightedly, and suddenly he was enveloped in strong arms, head resting on his father's broad shoulder. He hugged his father back just as tightly, burying his face in the velvet robes. One large had cupped the back of his head, while another pulled him closer. He closed his eyes, beginning to cry slightly. It had not been long since he had last seen his father in the grand scheme of things, but much had happened since their last meeting. Defeating Sauron, hearing of the army marched on his home, hearing the gulls...

His father held him tightly, swaying where he stood, and Legolas broke down into tears, fisting his father's robes in his hands like he had done as a small child. He felt like an elfling again, running to his father after something went wrong, knowing that he would make it alright again.

This time though, this time his father could not fix things. Even Thranduil, the last Elvenking in Middle Earth, could not stop the pain in his heart from hearing the gulls song. He could not make him forget their call, and the desperate longing it had awakened. He had spent the entirety of his life, thousands of years - an entire age and then some - happiest in the forests of his home. Even when the Necromancer had invaded, had forced his people further North, he had not fallen to sorrow or heard the call of the sea. He knew he would one day, it was the fate of all elves to return to Valinor, but he had not expected it to be so soon, or so painful. It felt as though someone was gripping his heart and pulling, trying to force him to leave the shores of his birth and reunite with his kin in the west.

He hated it.

His father started to hum softly, still stroking his hair in a soothing manner.

He lifted his head, looking up at his father's concerned face. He looked the same as ever, long blond hair falling in a smooth cascade down his back, sharp cheekbones and jawline, and intense blue eyes framed by dark brows. He was taller than Legolas, as Legolas took more after his mother and grandmother in height than he did his father or grandfather, and broad shouldered. His father smiled down at him, bringing one hand up to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Ion-nin," he finally said, deep voice cracking with emotion. "How I have missed you."

Legolas smiled as well, though his was considerably more watery. "And I you, Ada," he said readily. Elves did not carry human hang ups about expressing their emotions, and felt much more deeply. Legolas and Thranduil, in particular, were close. His mother had died when he was barely out of infancy, and his bereaved father had raised him completely on his own.

"Come," his father said, putting an arm over his shoulders to lead him into the sitting room. "We have much to speak about, it seems."

His father sat down first, slouching in a chair. Legolas sat himself on the sofa diagonal from the chair, perching on the edge and feeling unreasonably nervous, which in and of itself was ridiculous. He was never nervous around his father. Most beings were, he knew, even those like Mithrandir and Elrond. He knew his father was intimidating without trying to be, and could be downright terrifying when he wanted to. But he never had been with Legolas. They had had their arguments yes, as every parent and child did, but Thranduil had never been furious at him. Legolas had never had a reason to doubt his love.

He would be hurting his father, he knew, by telling him about hearing the gulls and feeling the pull. But he could never keep anything from the older elf, even when he tried. His father could always see right through him.

He bit his lower lip, worrying it between white teeth. "Ada…"

His father looked even more concerned, and pushed an errant curl behind his ear before cupping his cheek. "Penneth, what ails you? Tell me, please."

"I…" he swallowed, reaching over to grasp his father's hand in both of his. He ran a thumb, calloused from centuries of archery and weapons training, over his father's knuckles. "I have been to Pelargir," he said simply, knowing his father understood when the hand in his tensed. "I have heard the gulls."

His father sighed, closing his blue eyes, which were suddenly bright with tears. "Oh Legolas," he whispered, drawing him in for another hug. "Oh child."

Legolas swallowed, wishing his father could take the pain away.

They broke apart, though the older elf stayed close, cupping a cheek in his large palm again. "Do you need to sail now?" he asked gently, though Legolas knew it would cost him dearly to suggest it, to suggest that he leave Middle Earth when he himself would not leave for years to come.

He shook his head. "I do not want to," he said honestly. "I want to see our home free from darkness again, to see more of Middle Earth, and to help renew the lands of Ithilien." He paused, knowing his father would not be pleased by what he still needed to say. "And," he sighed, "I have promised Aragorn I would not leave Middle Earth while he is still in it."

His father sat back, a frown that would send most beings running from the room on his ancient face. He did not approve of his friendship with Aragorn, Legolas knew, but would never outright forbid Legolas from anything, as he was an adult and had been for many centuries. "You need to do what is best for you, Legolas," he finally said, a note of finality in his voice. "I do not want you to suffer when you do not need to. Your grandmother is in Valinor, as is her father and his kin. They would welcome you with open arms."

"I know, Ada," Legolas said, for he did. He had briefly known his grandmother, who had sailed not long after his grandfather had been slain at the Battle of Dagorlad. She had been incandescently kind, and Legolas missed her calming presence. He had never met her father, his great-grandfather, the great King Ingwë, but had grown up hearing stories of the ancient elf. He wanted to reunite, to meet family he had never known, but not yet. He had more he wanted to do in Middle Earth yet. "I know."

"Now come, let us speak of happier things. I have missed you dearly, and have much to tell you before morning breaks."

_ **###** _

Aragorn walked into the dining hall cautiously. It was early, far earlier than he usually rose and took his breakfast, but he had good reason to do so. He did not want to meet King Thranduil yet. Or ever truly, but he knew he could not avoid it. Arwen had distracted the King, her distant cousin (through her grandfather, Celeborn, who was first cousins with Thranduil's father Oropher) for much of the evening, before Legolas had returned after the sun had set. He hoped dearly that the Elvenking would still be distracted by his son, and would not bother with food until later in the morning.

He opened the door, nearly lightheaded with relief when the room was revealed to be empty save for two tired guards near the end of their shift and several servants and who were beginning to lay out foods for the first meal of the day.

"You are up early this morning Your Majesty!"

He managed a chuckle, smiling at the older woman who was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "I am indeed, Kelda," he said, though did not offer any further information. He was sure his guards had noticed his… healthy avoidance… of the Elvenking. He did not need the servants to as well. He sat down, basking in the peaceful silence while he ate his breakfast and drank his morning tea. The only thing that would make him happier would be his pipe, but the elves had conspired against him, forbidding him from smoking it in common areas.

Oh well.

"Ah! King Thranduil, was the food sent up last night to your satisfaction?"

Aragorn felt his heart drop in his chest, and beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His hands suddenly felt clammy, and his food turned to ash in his mouth.

"It was, thank you Kelda," came Thranduil's smooth baritone from just behind Aragorn's left shoulder. Aragorn prepared to feel a sword through his back. "My compliments to the chefs!"

Kelda tittered, blushing slightly. Aragorn stared, fear momentarily forgotten. Kelda had been a member of staff to Denethor for years, and had seen countless nobles and people of high status. She never tittered. She loved the hobbits unashamedly, treated Faramir and Aragorn like her children, and constantly tried to fatten Legolas up, often roping Gimli into helping her. She didn't treat him like a child, clearing finding him a little too otherworldly, but that did not stop her from trying to feed him up. Arwen, he'd noticed, was treated similarly, though not as intensely as Legolas, who seemed to inspire Kelda to new heights.

He had never known her to blush.

Thranduil sat down beside Aragorn, somehow managing to gracefully slouch in the simple chair, making it look like a throne. "Legolas particularly enjoyed the lemon pastries," he continued, still not looking at Aragorn.

Kelda's smile widened. "I thought he might," she said. "Did you manage to have one your Majesty?"

Thranduil laughed, a delightful sound if you did not know the true predator he was. "I did," he assured the human woman. "They were delicious."

Kelda bowed slightly. "Can I get you anything in particular, Majesty?"

"No, thank you Kelda," he said graciously, grabbing for a pot of boiled water, reaching into his loose dark blue robes, embroidered with gold thread, to produce a sachet of herbal tea favoured by elves who had lived in Doriath. He added it to his mug, and the fragrant smell filled the room.

Aragorn relaxed slightly, before tensing again. He could not afford to let his guard down around Thranduil.

Kelda said something else that Aragorn did not hear, before her duties called her away. He fought the urge to call her back. He was the King, after all, he could force her to stay.

Beside him Thranduil shifted in his seat.

Aragorn closed his eyes.

"I must get back to Legolas," the other King said, standing with more grace than Aragorn would ever be able to manage, holding two cups of tea now. "Good day to you, Estel."

He swept from the room, nodding regally to the guards at the door. One of them looked faint, while the other stared after him with wide dark eyes.

Aragorn let out a breath he had not known he was holding, heart racing unhealthily fast.

What was going on?

_ **###** _

Gimli watched in bemusement as Aragorn paced the sitting room with clear agitation. He himself was apprehensive to meet the legendary Elvenking, but Aragorn looked as though he was coming apart at the seams, so anxious was he.

The twins were seated in the corner of the room on two comfortable chairs, regarding their brother with clear amusement in their grey eyes. They had, like their younger sister, known King Thranduil since they were infants, and had no fear of him. Aragorn, however, had not met him until he was an adult, and had a intense fear of the other monarch.

It did not help that the twins and his wife did nothing to dissuade him from that fear. He was, after all, not someone Thranduil was likely to approve of as a companion for his son. Gimli was not either. His father had told him stories of King Thranduil for years, none of them particularly kind. But even the dwarves had a healthy dose of nervousness for the elves who inhabited the forests of what used to be Greenwood the Great and the King that had ruled them for millennia.

"He is up to something!" Aragorn finally said, looking at his wife with beseeching eyes. The lovely Arwen, who was sitting in a chair next to Gimli, raised a dark eyebrow in a manner similar to her august father.

"He is not," she scolded, defending Thranduil easily. Gimli supposed it would be easy to. Elves doted on their young, and Arwen had known the Elvenking her entire life. "You believe too many of the rumours concerning him."

Her brothers exchanged an amused look. They, at least, knew Thranduil's reputation was not entirely unfounded. Exaggerated perhaps, but not without some grain of truth.

"If he wants to blame you for Legolas going on the quest, Estel, then I agree you are utterly doomed," one of them (Gimli still could not tell which) said with a tone far too light for the situation at hand. His twin snickered, ignoring his sister's glare.

Aragorn sighed, dropping into a chair beside his wife. She pat his hand, though her own grey eyes glittered with amusement. She had seen many who considered themselves great quake in their boots at the mentions of Thranduil's name after all. Aragorn was just another poor soul in a long line.

"There is no way he will not blame me. Unless Adar decided to visit within the next several hours. Or Mithrandir."

Gimli barked a laugh. "They are probably smart enough to stay away until the danger has passed laddie."

Aragorn eyes him. "Why are you not more afraid? If Thranduil questions your fitness as a companion for his son…"

Gimli shrugged, putting his pipe to his lips. The three elves in the room glared at him, though he made no more to light it. He did not want it stolen again, thank you very much. "I know he will not like or approve of me," he said simply. It was, after all, the truth. "But Legolas wants me around, and from what you've told me of the Elvenking he will not do something that will make his son unhappy."

Arwen grinned at him, making him blush slightly. "See!" She said, looking incredibly pleased. "Gimli knows there is nothing to fear."

Aragorn and Gimli exchanged a glance. There was still certainly something to fear.

As if on cue the door opened, admitting a happy looking Legolas, and his stern father. Legolas, Gimli noted with pleasure, looked far more relaxed than he had in some time. He was dressed simply, in a pale green tunic over cream leggings, and with his riot of long blond hair loose, as he tended to wear it down in these times of peace.

Thranduil, in contrast, looked every inch the ancient King that he was. He was dressed in a similar fashion to his son, in simple leggings and a tunic of dark blue, but still managed to look like a creature from a story of ages past. His hair fell in a curtain of gold down his back, straight in contrast to his son's wild waves and curls, flowing around him like silk. He was looking at his son with nothing but love and pride in his blue eyes, but Gimli suspected that those eyes could turn to chips of ice in mere seconds.

Despite himself, he felt fear curling in his belly.

Aragorn looked as though he wanted to disappear, and was gripping his wife's hand tightly. Arwen rolled her eyes, and pulled her hand away.

Legolas sat on the plush sofa near to the twins, who had stood at their entry, bowing low to the King. Gimli could not see the Elvenking's face or hear his words, but knew he had said or done something when the twins straightened with matching grins, before hugging the taller elf together.

Aragorn now looked vaguely nauseated.

Legolas poured himself and his father a glass of elvish wine. "I am sorry for not seeing any of you today," he said in lieu of a greeting. "We lost track of time."

The twins let go of the King, and one turned to grin at his lifelong friend. "We did not expect anything else," he teased. Legolas rolled his green eyes, relaxing into the sofa with his wine.

Thranduil sat down next to his son, one arm across the back of the sofa, legs crossed at the ankles. He regarded the room with heavy lidded eyes, accepting the wine Legolas offered.

"I believe you have met nearly everyone here," Legolas said, shooting Gimli a smile. Despite himself, Gimli smiled back. Damn elf. "Adar, this is Gimli, son of Gloin, a dear friend of mine."

Thranduil turned his daunting gaze to Gimli, studying him intently. Gimli knew Legolas had spoken of him. That he had told his father of their friendship in the many letters the two exchanged. His father was not ignorant to his son making friends with a dwarf, the son of one of the dwarves who had trespassed in his realm all those years ago.

He just did not know how the King would react to his son's choice in friends.

"Well met, Gimli, son of Gloin," the elf said, nodding his head regally.

"And you, King Thranduil" Gimli said, keeping his voice level with some effort. The ancient elf gave him a slight smile, before his attention moved back to his son, who was glaring at Elladan who had claimed he'd won some archery contest centuries past.

Elves!

He was also sure Legolas would have won. He had seen the twins shoot, and he had seen Legolas shoot. There would have been no contest unless Legolas was trying to compete with two broken arms, a blindfold, and drunk.

Thranduil said something in Sindarin, making Arwen laugh, and Legolas to look smug.

Aragorn still looked slightly faint, and Gimli wondered if he should be more worried. Thranduil had not done anything, not yet, but Aragorn seemed ridiculous terrified.

"Estel!" Thranduil said suddenly, ignoring his son and the twins for the time being. "I almost forgot, congratulations on becoming King."

Aragorn fumbled with his wine, nearly dropping it. Arwen, seeing the danger the cup was in, took it from his shaking hand. He didn't seem to notice.

"Thank you, King Thranduil," he said formally, somehow managing not to stutter, though Gimli could tell it was a close thing.

Thranduil did not appear to notice, but there was a gleam of something in his icy gaze. Arwen and the twins looked as though they were desperately trying not to laugh. Legolas just smiled.

There was a knock on the door, before a young page entered, poking his head through the door.

"Yes?" Aragorn asked, looking limp with relief at the interruption.

"Apologies, your Majesty, but Prince Faramir requests your presence."

Aragorn all but leapt to his feet, making to leave the room. "Gimli," he said suddenly, spinning on his heel. "Faramir wanted to speak to you about the stonework surrounding the outer walls, did he not?"

Gimli frowned. "He did," he agreed. Though it was not urgent, and he did not know whether he wanted to strangle Aragorn for giving him such an obvious way to leave the room or hug him. He settled for being annoyed, and stood from his chair slowly. "Come on the laddie, let's see what Faramir wants."

_ **###** _

Legolas' lips twitched as he watched the mortals leave. Aragorn looked as though he was barely fighting the urge to run, and Gimli looked uncharacteristically nervous. He leaned more against his father, taking another sip of his wine.

Elladan topped it up automatically, before refilling his own cup.

"They looked completely terrified," Elrohir chucked, relaxing more into his chair.

Arwen stood, automatically smoothing her skirts, and came over to sit beside Legolas on the sofa. They did not sit close to one another often in Minas Tirith, as humans tended not to understand elvish friendship, especially between males and females. They had first met shortly after Arwen's birth, and again when she had been a toddler, following him around constantly on fer families visit to the then Greenwood. As adults they had remained close, as had Legolas and the twins. Their families did not stand on ceremony with each other.

"I cannot understand why," his father said lightly. "I have not actually said anything remotely threatening to either of them."

Elrohir laughed. "Estel has heard many stories about you Aran nin," he said. "It is his own fault he believes them. As for Gimli…"

"Gimli has listened to Estel, as well as his father and other kin. To be completely honest, I expected him to be more hostile." Elladan continued.

Legolas smiled, head tilted to the side. "We agreed that neither or us would be hostile to each other's families if we were ever to meet," he said simply.

Arwen snorted. "You, Legolas, are only openly hostile to agents of the enemy. You would manage to charm Gimli's family within a day."

"Gloin did stop glaring at you after about an hour," Elladan noted, mentioning the first time the two had met in Imladris. Legolas had managed to get the best of him and his twin, and had been laughing uproariously at them at the time. No one, not even a dwarf as stubborn as Gloin was, could stay truly angry in the face of the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen's infectious joy. Though he had made a good showing.

"Gimli, on the other hand, takes pride in his crunchiness, I think one could call it."

Thranduil pulled on Legolas' hair, drawing his attention. "The dwarf is dear to you Legolas, so I will not attempt to dissuade you his friendship. I will, however, ensure he knows not to take advantage as it were, or to take you for granted."

Legolas rolled his eyes, though he could not stop himself from smiling. That was more than he could hope for from his at times overprotective father.

_ **###** _

The next morning Gimli watched Aragorn leave the garden in which they had been speaking, his annoyance at the man stopping him from feeling any fear as the Elvenking stalked into the terraced and unfinished space, as graceful as a great cat, regarding Gimli with eyes like chips of ice.

"Are you here to tell me not to be friends with you son?" he asked, feeling a surge of anger as he watched the elf.

Thranduil said nothing for several minutes, seemingly content observing Gimli. Gimli allowed it, not wanting to speak again until he had his answer. He would not cower in front of anyone. Thranduil finally smiled.

Overall Gimli did not think Thranduil and Legolas resembled each other very much. Yes, they both had the same white blond hair and ridiculously pale skin, but in Gimli's eyes at least, that's where the resemblance ended. Thranduil was far too tall, and broad shouldered, with hair that fell in a straight curtain down his back. He, like his son, had sharp cheekbones, but his jawline was more prominent than Legolas' . He looked like a King of old (which he was, Gimli had to remind himself), an elf of legend, with icy blue eyes that had seen far too much suffering. Legolas himself looked considerably more fey than his father did, with hair the same shade of pale blond but much more wild. His eyes were less cold as well, and were the same shade of green as new leaves, always shining with one emotion or another, never stern or shut off.

Gimli supposed Thranduil took after his direct kin, who were Sindar and Vanyar of the noblest of births, while Legolas took more after his Silvan mother and her people, who even dwarves knew were said to be fierce and fell and wild. Legolas, for all his otherworldly looks, seemed far more approachable than his immovable father ever did, and wore his emotions on his sleeve. Thranduil was open with his son, whom he clearly loved intensely, and with the children of Elrond and the companions he had arrived with, but put on a mask around everyone else, especially mortals.

Gimli thought he may get a chance to see past that mask now. When Thranduil smiled he looked much more like his son. They even shared the same dimple in their left cheek.

"Legolas has told me much about you," he said instead of answering Gimli's question immediately. "It is clear he cares about you, and values your friendship. He is also an adult, and had been many centuries. I may not approve of all of his choices, but they are his choices to make."

Gimli drew himself up, offended at the perceived slight, but stopped when Thranduil raised a hand.

"I was at Doriath, Master Dwarf," he said, eyes briefly flashing, "and have no love for your race. But Legolas does not choose his close friends lightly, and he would not care for you so if you were cruel. I will not interfere with your friendship with my son."

Gimli studied the elf for a long moment, looking for duplicity. "They why are you talking to me at all?" he asked finally.

Thranduil's smile fell, and he looked at Gimli seriously. "Knowing you will cause Legolas a great deal of pain one day," he said softly. "Dwarves have a relatively long lifespan, for a mortal, but mortal you are. One day you will die, and Legolas will feel the pain of his loss for all of eternity."

Gimli remained silent, started to hear Thranduil parrot his own fears back at him. Legolas, once he let someone fully in, loved fiercely and completely. He knew his death would cause his friend grief, and wished there was a way to spare him it.

"If you ever do anything to make me believe you are unworthy of my child's friendship and love I will make Morgoth himself look kind," Thranduil finished, and Gimli believed him. He knew well that the Elvenking would do anything of his only child. Elves were notorious how well they loved their little ones, and Legolas was Thranduil's only child.

"I would deserve it, if I hurt him," Gimli answered slowly, hooking his thumbs in his belt. "I know that knowing me will cause him pain one day. When I realised, all those months ago that I saw the lad as a friend, one of my first thoughts was how my death would affect him."

"Legolas has made a good choice in his friendship with you," Thranduil said, smiling once more, striking Gimli anew with the similarity of his smile and Legolas'.

"He's a good lad," Gimli grunted. "Flighty as anything, but he has a good heart. I suppose he takes after his mother?"

Thranduil laughed out loud at that, head thrown back in mirth. "That he does Master Dwarf," he chucked. "He takes after his mother in much."

Gimli studied the elf in front of him with shrewd back eyes. "I reckon he takes after you just as much, if not more."

"Perhaps," was the only reply, though Gimli noted his eyes were shining with amusement like Legolas' did when he teased Aragorn or the twins… or like when Thranduil was near Aragorn...

Despite himself, Gimli's lips twitched. "You're messing with Aragorn," he said. "Aren't you?"

Thranduil looked down his noble nose at him, though his eyes shone the same way Legolas' did when he was feeling mischievous. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Master Dwarf," was all he said.

Gimli laughed aloud. "I can see where Legolas gets it from," he chucked.

"Perhaps," Thranduil said again, looking down at Gimli. "Come, Legolas is waiting. And Estel, forgive me, Aragorn, will be there as well," he finished with a smirk.

It was on the tip of his tongue to argue, to say he did not come at Legolas' beck and call, but he did not say anything. He was not yet sure enough in his position in Thranduil's eyes.

But he cared for Legolas, more than he could properly express. The lad was a mass on contractions that should grate on Gimli's dwarvish sensibilities (and indeed had at the start of the quest) but now only made Gimli love him all the more. He was old beyond what Gimli could imagine, yet still at times reminded him of a curious youth, a deadly warrior that would rather not fight, and a Prince of a great lineage that introduced himself only as a simple archer. He had allowed the Hobbits to ask him constant questions on their journey, and related well with Boromir when the other man grew introspective and worried about his home. He had been joyful even in the darkest of times, and Gimli knew he would gladly spend the rest of his life keeping the lad happy.

He could put up with Thranduil. At least Thranduil would also have to put up with him. They were both, it seemed unwilling to cause Legolas grief by fighting. Gimli also thought that Legolas needed someone to keep grounded, to distract him from the sea longing ravenging his soul, and help him remember what he was staying in Middle Earth for. Though it grated to consider joining forces with the elf who had locked his father in a dungeon, he knew Thranduil would gladly help him in his self appointed task. They would get along, if only for Legolas' sake. Perhaps someday they would even become friends, though Gimli doubted it.

He followed the King inside, a wicked smirk forming on his face.

He almost felt sorry for Aragorn.

Almost.


	2. Elvish Pranks and Good Dwarven Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the council of Elrond Gloin decides to meet Legolas, the elf who will be accompanying his son to Mordor. It does not go how he expected. Aragorn would just like to get down from the tree, thank you very much. Ft. Legolas, Gimli and Gloin, Glorfindel as well as Aragorn and the twins up a tree.

Aragorn did not dare move. 

If he did, he was sure he would die instantly, shot through with an arrow. Or worse, he would be kept alive and taken prisoner, never to see the light of day again. 

His only hope was that his pursuer would lose interest in his chase, or that something would distract him. He was doubtful though. 

The one who attacked him was a fierce warrior, and one of the most stubborn creatures in Arda, outclassed only by his father. It would take a miracle of the most amazing sort to distract him when he thought revenge was truly necessary. 

His brothers were likewise hiding, higher up in the same tree, looking like twin ravens. They too, did not dare to move. 

Arwen, his beloved, had walked off nearly an hour ago, laughing uproariously. Glorfindel, the balrog slayer himself, had come to see what Elrond’s daughter found so amusing, before laughing to himself at the sight of the three sons of Elrond hiding in a tree of all things. 

“You are all fools,” he had finally said, allowing a grin to cross his fair face. “Complete fools.” 

They had not dared to answer. 

Elrohir claimed that this particular tree would protect them. That  _ he _ had not convinced it to his side. Elladan was much less sanguine about the possibility, but nonetheless knew he did not have many other options. And so, the three sons of Elrond had climbed into the large oak, hiding themselves amongst the foliage. 

They had been there for over an hour now. 

Aragorn’s behind was going numb, but he did not dare to move to adjust his position.  _ He _ seemingly had not found them yet, but he felt sure if he moved there would be an arrow in his heart instantly. 

Because _ he _ was just that good. 

For a normally cheerful elf, Legolas could be downright vicious when he thought the situation warranted it. 

And he clearly thought this situation did, much to Aragorn’s consternation. 

Legolas, when angered, tended to take on a terrifying likeness to his father. The twins, who had known King Thranduil since they were infants, were slightly intimidated, but more scared of the revenge Legolas would come up with then his likeness to his august father. 

Aragorn however, had a healthy fear of the Elvenking, and therefore of Legolas as well when he decided to channel his father. He had never seen King Thranduil angry, but had heard plenty of stories, and knew that he did not approve of his friendship with Legolas in any case. 

Legolas did not often choose to act like his father, but when he did…

Perhaps they should not have pranked him the morning after the Council. 

Or at all. 

Ellandan and Elrohir had insisted he would not stay angry long, but Aragorn was not so sure. Legolas had had a look in his emerald eyes, one that heralded revenge. 

In retrospect, drugging his wine and dipping the ends of his long white blond hair in beetroot juice had been a little excessive. 

Maybe. 

He had somehow managed to pull off the odd look without looking ridiculous, a fact which had duly impressed Aragorn and the twins. He’d tied his long hair up back, ensuring only a small amount of the dye could be seen, and only by those who were truly looking. He’d also acted unaffected by the prank, conversing with Arwen and Glorfindel calmly during an early breakfast before chatter with his host over a cup of herbal tea. 

No one had commented on his hair. Elrond had limited himself to a single raised eyebrow, and resigned himself to the fact that all three of his sons would soon be missing in action for the foreseeable future. He had known Legolas since the Prince was a small child. There was no way he would not take some form of vengeance. 

Glorfindel had drawn Legolas aside, much to the twins and Aragorn’s suspicion, just after breakfast. It was then that they had decided running was the better part of valor. 

That lead to their current situation. 

Several branches above him his twin brothers sat on a branch far too narrow to support the weight of a fully grown human. He could not hear them, but he just knew they were whispering among themselves, far to quiet for any other being to hear. 

He thought they were being utterly foolish, as knowing them they would be insulting Legolas. One did not say anything that could be considered even slightly unkind to the Prince of the Woodland Realm in the presence of trees and hope to get away with it. Indeed, even woodland creatures had been known to become violent to those who they thought had hurt their beloved Greenleaf. He himself has a small scar on the back of his right ankle for throwing a knife at the fair Prince in jest. It had gone a full foot over his pale head, and he had known his oldest friend would have been able to dodge it regardless, but the nearby squirrel had taken a great deal of offence. Legolas and his brothers, not to mention Glorfindel, had been beside themselves laughing. 

Erestor still brought it up at times, smirking all the while. 

He now had a healthy and very valid fear of squirrels. 

Nevertheless, he was beginning to regret climbing the same tree as his idiotic brothers. He would have been much better off hiding on his own and waiting for them to draw Legolas’s attention. Then, hopefully, Legolas would spend his anger on them. The Prince of Mirkwood had inherited much from his father, but the ability to stay angry for long was not one of those traits. He had inherited far too much from his Silvan mother for that. 

He sighed to himself, regretting involving himself in this mess. He should have remained in bed when his brothers had snuck into his room in the early hours of the morning instead of allowing them to convince him to take part in this prank on the son of Thranduil. 

He was doomed. 

** _###_ **

Gloin snorted, starting at his son’s displeased face. He didn’t blame the lad, not a whit, but still stood by what he’d said. “You’ll be travelling together for months,” he pointed out, noting in amusement that Gimli, for all he was well into adulthood, still gave him the same glower as when he’d been a wee lad. “Best introduce yerself proper.” 

Gimli snorted in return. “He’s the son of the Elvenking,” he said with a look of deep disgust. “I’ve no interest in knowing him… proper.” 

Gloin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, yer Ma will feel better if you say something to him,” he said. Gimli could never say no to his Ma. No one could. 

As he’d expected, his son’s dark eyes widened him slight surprise, before narrowing in anger. 

“Look,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his belt, “I’m not any happier than you at all this. Yer off on a quest with an elf who looks like he’s barely seen a handful of summers, and the son of Thranduil,” he spat on the ground after saying the cursed name, “at that. The hobbits are good folk at least, even the young ones. And you’ll have Tharkûn with you.” 

Gimli likewise hooked his thumbs in his belt, standing up from the delicate looking bench. Elves! Everything they made looked like it should break with a stiff breeze. “And the humans,” he said with a slight scoff. 

Gloin chuckled. “Not as bad as the elf,” he pointed out, starting to lead the way out of the small garden. They’d find someone who could direct them to the Elvish Princeling eventually he was sure. “That Aragorn seems like the good sort at least. Dúnedain usually are.” 

“The Gondorian as well, overall,” Gimli said. “Though rather too focused on his home for my liking.” 

Gloin nodded. He’d noticed that as well, as had many others. But overall he had found the Gondorian to be a good man, and with Tharkûn on the quest he’d be set straight it need be. Even the little hobbits, the young cousins in particular, would be good to have on the quest. They would serve to keep spirits high, and their presence would be invaluable to the Ringbearer. 

It was just the elf he had issue with. 

“I suppose we’re lucky there aren’t more elves in this fellowship,” he commented after they passed several elves. Too tall the lot of them, and they all looked the same, especially when their hair was the same colour. These elves inclined their heads with those haughty expressions elves always had, and neither Gloin nor Gimli were inclined to talk to them. He didn’t recognise them as important in any case. It was doubtful they knew where the little prince was. 

Gimli chucked. “Aye, I’d have thought that as well, given it’s an elf that organised the council, he’d have chosen mostly elves!” 

“Elrond’s an odd elf,” Gloin told his son. “And he’s part human.” 

“Diluted at this point I’d say,” Gimli argued good naturedly, as was his way. “He’s been Lord of this place for over an age now. He’s probably forgotten about his mortal side.” 

Gloin grunted, but didn’t respond. Rivendell was a beautiful place, despite all the elves around. “What?” He asked, for his son had nudged him. 

“Reckon he’d know where Thranduil’s brat is?” 

Gloin glanced over to where Gimli indicated. Glorfindel, the elf who’d defeated a creature of great evil and been reincarnated by the Valar themselves. He at least should have some idea of the whereabouts of one Legolas Greenleaf. 

“Lord Gloin, Master Gimli!” He called, coming over to them with a cheery smile on his ageless face. His blond hair was pulled back from his face in a high tail, and he was wearing simple clothing unlike many of the other elves of Rivendell. He was also, Gloin noted, very well and very discreetly armed. He approved, as much as he could approve of an elf at least. 

“Lord Glorfindel,” Glain said formally. Gimli remained silent, watching them speak with keen eyes. 

Glorfindel smiled at them merrily, though his eyes, Gloin noted, retained a slight edge of hardness. Perhaps it was simple wariness of dwarfs, or his great age, but it left Gloin unable to relax. 

“Can I help you fellows with something?” The elf lord asked, head tilted down to look at them. 

Gloin gave him an appraising look. “Aye, I suppose. Might you know were Prince Legolas is?” 

Glorfindel’s polite smile changed to one of true amusements. Gloin raised an eyebrow. He would not be the source of amusement for any elf!

Glorfindel laughed. “I assure you, I am not laughing at you, Lord Gloin,” he said with a chuckle. “But yes, I know where Legolas is,” he continued informally. “In fact, I was just going to go see him! Would you like to accompany me?” 

Gloin considered the situation. He’d much rather see the elf on his own with his son, and not in the company of another elf, but did not see a polite way to do so. And he wanted to get this over with. “We would,” he finally said. 

Glorfindel just inclined his golden head, before leading them down a path neither dwarf had noticed in their explorations of the elvish land. 

Gloin exchanged a look with his son, before Gimli broke eye contact and stomped after the elf. 

“Have you known him long?” Gloin asked after several beats of silence once he’d caught up with his son and the elf. 

Glorfindel smiled down at them, blue eyes twinkling. Gloin harrumphed to himself, annoyed. Glittering eyes and glowing skin. Elves were overall ridiculous creatures. 

“I first met him when he was around the same size as a mortal toddler, or a bit older,” Glorfindel explained. “He and his father,” here he paused, giving Gloin an amused look, “came to Imladris for Summer Solstice.” He laughed suddenly, as elves were wont to do. “He and the sons of Elrond have since been inseparable, much to the consternation of those around them.”

“Oh?” Gloin asked, ignoring the mention of the Elvenking with a great deal of effort. 

Glorfindel smirked, and did not reply. Gloin fought the urge to sigh again. He would be sad to leave, for once he left he was unsure if he would ever see his only child again, but would not be sorry to leave the elves. Flighty as anything, the lot of them. At least the ones here in Rivendell weren’t as bad as those from Mirkwood. Those elves had an eerie otherworldly quality beyond what was normal even for elves, he’d found. 

Beside him Gimli was glowering at nothing in particular, already displeased with being among elves, and becoming more and more bad tempered as time went on. Gloin ignored him with the ease of long practise. One did not parent a dwarf without becoming exposed to many foul moods over the years after all. 

“ _ Penneth _ !” Glorfindel suddenly called, a wide grin crossing his ageless face. 

Ahead of the strange group Legolas sat underneath a tree fletching arrows, his long blond hair tied back and piled on the top of his head. Gloin stared. He looked like an overgrown child. There was no way he could trust this Princeling to watch his son’s back on the way to Mordor. 

“Good morning Lord Glorfindel,” Legolas said cheerily, looking up from his fletching. “How are you this fine day?” He spoke in the common tongue in deference to the dwarfs, but his accent was strange, and he was clearly not used to speaking anything but elvish. 

Glorfindel glared at him. “You call me by my title, I call you by yours. That is the deal, as you well know.” 

The elf prince grinned, showing off his dimples, before standing. Though he did not, Gloin notice, put down his arrow or his bow. In a way he approved. He was, after all, still armed, and would not even consider going unarmed among enemies. Slightly behind his he noticed his son’s hands tightening into fists at the sight of the son of the Elvenking. Said son did not appear to notice, though Gloin knew that could well be an act. 

“It is so fun to tease you though, my friend,” 

Despite himself Gloin’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Even he would hesitate in teasing an elf such as Glorfindel. 

Legolas, it seemed, had no such hesitation. He turned away from the Balrog Slayer, and a more cautious look crossed his youthful face. “Well met Master Dwarves,” he said, voice guarded. 

“Indeed,” Gloin said in return. “Well met to you Master Elf.” 

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Legolas did not react at all at the slight, though Gloin thought his bright green eyes flashed with amusement, before his face settled into a polite mask. 

There was a brief moment of awkward silence, before the trees rustled unnaturally, and a wicked grin spread across Legolas’s face. Glorfindel threw an arm around his shoulders, laughing loudly. 

Gloin raised a bushy eyebrow in question, wishing he was not around these odd creatures. Gimli, he well knew, felt the same, though far more intensely. Gloin hated elves, to be sure, but was older and knew some (though very few!) could be bearable. Gimli hated them all on sight. 

Legolas was looking at a nearby oak with a distant (yet somehow conniving) look on his face, though Glorfindel noticed Gloin’s questioning look. “Elladan and Elrohir - the twin sons of Elrond, you may recall - and Legolas here have been friends for centuries,” he started to explain, giving the younger elf a little shake. Legolas ignored him, still focused on the trees. “And as many younglings do, they will play little pranks on one another. What’s the tally now  _ penneth _ ?” 

Legolas looked up at Glorfindel with such a look of wide eyed innocence that Gloin nearly believed he was nothing more than a youngling who’d never done anything wrong in his life. In that brief moment he almost felt bad for Thranduil. There was no way this child had not run his father ragged. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied through perfectly straight teeth. 

Glorfindel laughed again. “I am sure, Thranduilion. I am also sure,” he added, throwing in a conspiratorial wink to Gloin and Gimli both, “that you are in the lead by far.” 

Legolas’s smile widened. “Master Dwarves,” he said, face guarded once again. “Some servants have set out some refreshments nearby, would you care to join Lord Glorfindel and myself?” 

Gloin considered the situation briefly, before answering on his and Gimli’s behalf. Gimli would forgive him eventually, he was sure. He also knew his son had decided on his own to stick by his side, as they would soon be separating - he back to Erebor with his fellows, and Gimli to stay and prepare for the quest. 

“We would be happy to,” he said, and found he wasn’t entirely lying. He wanted a better read on the Son of Thranduil, and this Glorfindel at least was not completely terrible. For an elf. 

Legolas inclined his head slightly, before ducking out of the taller elf’s grasp to gather the remainder of his fletching. He slung his bow across his shoulder, before speaking quickly to Glorfindel in Elvish, and then leapt straight up. 

Gloin let out a noise of surprise despite himself. The lad had leapt nearly ten feet straight up with seemingly no effort, and disappeared entirely. Perhaps he was no so worthless after all. 

“Master Gimli,” Glorfindel said, beginning to walk to where Gloin assumed some food and drink were. “On this quest Legolas will be the safest option for a scout,” he said, leading them down a winding pathway. The two dwarves exchanged glances, Gimli’s distinctly more annoyed, before following after him, watching the tall form ahead of them. 

“He is,” Glorfindel continued, “not the Prince of the Woodland Realm for nothing. He will be safe in the trees, and they will aide him, when others, even other elves, would falter.” 

Gloin fought the urge to roll his eyes. “The trees would help him?” He stated more than asked in a deadpan voice, not wanting to listen to elvish ridiculousness. 

Glorfindel glanced back at them, a smile still on his ancient face. “Indeed! The trees love our Thranduilion, more even than they do his father. They will aid them whenever and wherever they can.” 

Gloin exchanged a look with his son. Perhaps this was a mistake after all… This Glorfindel seemed a slight bit unhinged, and if the Princeling was off cavorting with trees, he would likely be worse off. 

They broke through to an admittedly beautiful clearing a little west to where Gloin knew the Last Homely House to be. There was a waterfall crashing down, keeping the clearing wonderfully cool, and a pavilion was erected near the trees, leaving the rest of the clearing free for feasts Gloin imagined. He still well remembered how elves enjoyed their outdoor feasts and dancing under the stars. Curiously, he noticed, a large number of woodland animals had converged at the base of a particularly large oak, almost seeming smug. 

He looked back to his son, who had noticed as well and given him a slight shrug. Animals did tend to act strange around elves. It was probably for the best not to ask. 

Glorfindel led them up the steps of the pavillion, noting with pleasure that there was ale alongside the elvish wine, and meat and cheeses as well. Not just leafy elf food. How they grew as tall as they did he would never understand. He sat first, lounging against the ornate cushions surrounding the low table, before gesturing for Gloin and Gimli to sit as well. 

They did so, and Gimli poured them both a tankard of ale. 

“Legolas will be along shortly,” Glorfindel said, taking a sip of his wine, “in the meantime, you have some questions I assume?” 

Gloin snorted. “Aye, you could say so,” he readily admitted. Gimli remained silent, though his eyes were drawn again to the tree in which the animals had surrounded, a studious look on his face. 

If Glorfindel noticed he made no comment. “You would like to know more about Legolas,” he stated. 

Gloin smiled grimly. “Indeed,” was all he said in response. 

Glorfindel stared at him, and Gloin felt for a moment the full weight of his stare and the years behind it. This was not the cheery elf presented to the world. This was an ancient being more powerful than Gloin could possibly imagine. The moment passed as quickly as it came, but left Gloin feeling ill at ease. Beside him Gimli had straightened slightly, and was looking at Glorfindel head on, with clear eyes. 

Well, his son had never been in want of courage. Indeed, Gimli was one of the finest dwarves he knew, and would not be cowed by anyone - even Glorfindel the Balrog Slayer himself. 

Glorfindel smiled. “I have known Legolas since he was small, as I have already told you, and know him very well. He has visited Imladris often,” he continued, using the Elvish name for Rivendell, “and those from Rivendell and other Elvish lands have likewise visited the Greenwood, though less now that times are so dark.” 

“Was he at the Battle of the Five Armies?” Gloin demanded. He did not remember him, and Legolas looked so similar to his father that he would not have missed him. Thranduil was taller and broader than his son, with sterner features, but there was enough of a similarity that even Gloin could see the resemblance. 

Glorfindel shook his head, picking up a cream filled pastry. “Alas he was not. He was leading a patrol in the South of Greenwood, several weeks journey away. He could not abandon his post, even for such a dire situation. To do so would have allowed the spiders that plague the south to run unchecked.” 

Gloin grunted, accepting the explanation. The southern reaches of Mirkwood were notoriously dangerous. 

“How long has he been leading patrols?” He asked instead. 

Beside him Gimli stood, walking over to the edge of the pavillion. A brief smile crossed Glorfindel’s face, though it was quickly gone, replaced by the inscrutable look most often worn by elves. Gloin chose to ignore it in favour of satisfying his curiosity. 

“He began his patrols many years ago,” Glorfindel responded vaguely, with a hint of a smile that told Gloin he would say nothing more on that. “I have trusted him to watch my back and fight beside me many times over the centuries. When he was young I helped in his training whenever we saw one another, and continued to spar with him as he aged. He’s even beaten me several times with his knives, and consistently defeats everyone in archery.” He leaned back against the cushions, looking like a sated cat. “It was quite something to have a youngling, for he was not yet of age, defeat me in anything.” 

Gloin nodded, feeling slightly impressed despite himself. He began to say something else, but the subject of their conversation suddenly leapt over the railing, cause both him and his son to start in surprise. 

Glorfindel in contrast said nothing, and handed his fellow elf a goblet of wine. Legolas was, Gloin noticed, still armed, though had left his fletching somewhere else. He was far more elvish looking then those in Rivendell in many ways. The elves of the valley were certainly removed from mortals, but not nearly as much as those in what was once known as Greenwood the Great. All the elves in Mirkwood, even the Elvenking himself, had a fey and fell look to them, as though they were not entirely of this world. 

Legolas, he noticed, had this look in spades. He was not sure how his son, who was so deeply rooted in logic and had a healthy disdain for elvish wiles such as tree speaking and singing to the stars, would cope with having an elf such as Legolas on the quest with him. Or indeed, how the elvish Princeling would cope with his son! 

It was bound to be an interesting journey, to say the least. 

He almost felt sorry for Tharkûn. 

Almost. 

  
  


** _###_ **

  
  


Aragorn closed his eyes when he saw Legolas bound over the edge of the pavillion, accepting a goblet of wine from Glorfindel. Glorfindel, he knew, just wanted to be around when Legolas finally got his revenge. And though Legolas was surely hating to spend time with the dwarves, Aragorn knew he’d missed Glorfindel, whom he’d known since he was a small elfling and had often played with. His foster father still told stories of how Glorfindel would absconded with Legolas the moment he arrived in their fair valley when the Prince was an elfling, taking him into the surrounding forests. 

Legolas’s hair was slightly damp - he’d clearly taken the time to bathe while he and his brothers had been hiding unmoving in the tree - and even from this distance Aragorn could tell most of the colour was gone. Unless you were looking for it, you would never be able to tell that just that morning the ends of the white blond hair had been a wonderful shade of pink.

All that effort in drugging him and mixing the dye, wasted. 

Aragorn was no fool. Legolas may be calmer now with the colour out, but he would not let this transgression go unpunished. 

The prince, down at the pavillion, turned his full attention to the two dwarfs, finally letting go of his bow. 

“Estel!” 

He looked up, eyes wide, and glared at his brothers. Elladan was ever so slowly coming down from his branch, Elrohir following him. 

He didn’t move. 

“Go on Estel,” Elladan said, making a shooing gesture. “He’s distracted by the dwarves and Glorfindel. If we wait until they leave and Legolas catches us…” he trailed off, clearly imagining the horrors their oldest friend would bestow upon them. 

Aragorn fought the urge to groan. Would his brothers never learn? Legolas may be distracted, but he would certainly notice them climbing down from the tree and running off to another hiding place. He had been leading patrols for centuries after all, and was one of the finest warriors he knew. And in the trees? 

No. They were better off staying exactly where they were. 

“Come on, Estel!” It was Elrohir this time. He’d slipped silently onto the branch directly above his head and crouched beside his twin. 

Despite himself Aragorn felt his lips twitch in a smile. With their dark leggings and tunics the twins looked like ravens perched on the branch.

He shook his head and mouthed a negative to his brothers, glaring hard. His glare had stopped many a young ranger from doing something foolish. His brothers paid it no mind, and simply glared back. They looked uncannily like their father when they glared, and Aragorn fought not to immediately obey them. 

_ No _ , he mouthed again, shaking his head slightly for emphasis. 

Elrohir rolled his grey eyes, and slipped onto the branch beside him. He’d apparently decided to make the attempt to leave. Elladan, normally the more impulsive twin, looked slightly worried, but quickly followed his slightly younger brother. Soon all three of them were perched on the same branch. 

“We have got to go now  _ penneth _ ,” Elladan whispered almost too soft for mortal ears. “Do you want to face his temper?” 

“He does not look angry now,” Aragorn pointed out, voice inaudible to his own ears. Legolas did, in fact, appear to be rather annoyed, but Aragorn assumed that was because he was being forced into a conversation with two dwarves then because of them. 

Elladan rolled his eyes. “You are a fool,” he declared nearly silently. “Now go!” 

Aragorn groaned, knowing in his bones that this would not well. They would all be caught, and Legolas would not hesitate in taking his revenge in front of Gimli and his father. Nothing would stop Legolas if he thought he needed to seek retribution - he was too much his father’s son. 

He shifted his weight as slowly and silently as he inched down the tree trunk. Soon enough he was on the lowest branch, and a quick glance to Legolas showed the elf was preoccupied with trying to be polite to the dwarves. He slid down some more, and began to ever so carefully lower himself to the ground. 

  
  


** _###_ **

  
  


Faster than mortal eyes could track Legolas had his bow drawn and an arrow nocked and released, already reaching for a second one, then a third. Three yelps sounded through the air, one after another, and both Gimli and his father immediately reached for their weapons. 

Glorfindel raised a hand to stop them, and looked as though he were about to laugh. 

Six more shots, all fired one after another to fast for Gimli to even try and track, flew through the air, and hit the tree the animals had converged upon with a thwack.

“I could have trapped you in nets again  _ Elrondionath _ ,” Legolas called cheerfully, a large grin on his face. His green eyes glittered in the afternoon sun, and even his pale blond hair seemed to be glowing. 

Glorfindel abandoned all semblance of dignity and began laughing uproariously, putting his wine on the low table so he did not spill it. It was, as he’d reminded them all, a good vintage. 

Gimli glanced over in the directions the arrows had flown, and felt his eyes widen and lips twitch despite himself. 

Aragorn and the twin sons of Elrond looked back, red faced. Aragorn looked accepting of the situation, while the twins looked ready to spit fire. 

“I am sorry mellon nin,” Aragorn said, sounding completely truthful. He was not bothering to struggle, seemingly knowing there would be no point. The shots were perfect, Gimli noted, one above each shoulder pinning Aragorn’s clothing to the tree (and how the elf had made those shots with such precision Gimli did not know) and each of them also had an additional arrow just an inch shy of a much more sensitive area. The twins had best stop struggling. 

The elf grinned, and leapt over the railing of the pavillion in a swift movement. “I know you are Estel,” he said gamely, patting the man on the shoulder just beside one of the arrows. A squirrel was perched on the shaft now, and even Gimli could tell it was laughing at the pinned man. Above Aragorn the twins were yelling what he assumed to be insults down at the prince, dangling as they were from their pinned tunics. Aragorn, at least, was far closer to the ground. One of the twins made to swat at a bird flying in his face, scowling heavily. 

“You give in to easily to the youth of the eldar.” 

“Youth?” one of the twins spluttered, stopping his struggling to glare down at the prince. “You are barely older than us!” 

“If you say so Dan,” the elf said. He then turned his attention to Aragorn. Gimli could not hear what was said, and doubted they would be speaking in the common tongue now in any case. Several moments later Legolas pulled out the arrows, allowing the man to drop several inches to the ground. 

Aragorn clasped him on the shoulder, looking truly repentant for whatever he had done. Gimli decided he did not want to know. 

They looked up as one to the twins stuck to the tree, woodland animals tittering around them. 

One of the twins, Gimli had no clue which, was pinned to the trunk. The other, who looked furious, was slightly above him. 

One of them shouted something in elvish that Gimli did not understand, and reached for the arrow between his legs, a mere inch away from flesh, and yanked it out before scrambling for the ones holding his tunic in place and suspending him above the ground. His twin did the same, though the wild animals made things difficult for him. Squirrels and chipmunks ran amok over them, and birds were constantly 

“Thranduilion!” One of them shouted, looking furious. A bird nearly flew into his mouth, and he could say no more. 

“Legolas,” the other pleaded, sounding much more contrite. “ _ Mellon-nin _ ?” 

Legolas laughed again, and said something too soft for Gimli or his father to hear. Immediately the animals stopped harassing the two elves still stuck to the tree and scampered off into the woods, though several came up to Legolas first to nuzzle against him briefly. 

“ _ Hannon le _ ,” one of the twins said, quickly freeing himself and then aiding his still angry brother. They both dropped to the ground and approached Legolas, who was still smiling beatifically at them, seeminly not caring that two warrior elves were approaching him with murder in their eyes. 

Aragorn shook his head and left the group, walking over to join them on the pavillion. “Well met, Master Dwarves,” he said, seemingly not at all embarrassed. 

“And you,” Gimli grunted, still unsure of what to make of the situation and not liking the feeling. 

There was a moment of silence in which he exchanged a baffled look with his father and Aragorn helped himself to wine. Glorfindel said something to him, before clasping his shoulder and smirking. Aragorn shrugged. 

“You should know better by now then to try and one up our little Prince,” the Balrog Slayer said in the common tongue, his tone teasing. 

Aragorn shrugged again, huffing out a small laugh. “Indeed I should,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Though at least I am sensible enough to know when I am beaten,” he continued, nodding to where the twins were talking at an amused Legolas. 

“You learned that very quickly Estel,” Glorfindel said. “As did Arwen. The twins however…” 

Aragorn grinned. “It is smartest to watch from the sidelines,” he said, looking towards Gimli and Gloin. Gimli raised a bushy eyebrow, not sure he wanted to be a part of this odd discussion. “Let Elladan and Elrohir go up against Legolas and Arwen,” Aragorn expanded. “It is a sight to behold.” 

“Have those two ever won?” His father asked, stern conternace fading away. Gimli felt his stomach drop when he took in his father’s expression and tone. No…

Aragorn laughed again, leaving Glorfindel to answer. “Not in this ones,” he gestured to the laughing human with his goblet, “lifetime. Or for some time before that. Though they are persistent. Now!” He stood up, bowing his head. “I am needed elsewhere, as, unfortunately, Aragorn.” 

Aragorn allowed himself to be pulled up, and bowed formally to Gimli and Gloin both. “I hope to see you both in the Hall of Fire tonight?” he asked, an eyebrow raised in question. 

Gloin grunted. “We shall see you there, Lord Aragorn.” 

Aragorn smiled politely again, before following Glorfindel from the pavilion. 

Gimli turned to look at the other elves again, and made a noise of annoyance when he realised they had vanished. He turned back to his father and watched with trepidation and annoyance as the older dwarfs lips twitched under his bread in a way Gimli knew he was trying not to laugh outright. 

“What?” he asked suspiciously. 

His father turned to him, dark eyes awash with amusement. 

“What?” he asked again, allowing some of his frustration to creep into his tone. 

“I like him.”

“Who, Aragorn? Aye, he seems like a good man, though perhaps a little foolish…”

“No, well, yes. Aragorn will be a fine man to have on the quest with you. But the elf. I like him.” 

Gimli stared at his father. True, Legolas had not seemed quite as bad as some of the other elves, in fact he reminded his an awful lot of his young cousins, but he was still an elf, and the son of Thranduil at that. He was not to be trusted, and he told his father as such under no uncertain terms. 

Gloin just looked at him, still overly amused for the situation. 

“Pa…” Gimli said, allowing his voice to trail off. Really, his father was becoming far too soft in his old age. There was a time where he would have washed Gimli’s mouth out with soap for daring to say something kind about any elf, let alone the son of the Elvenking! 

“I like him,” the older dwarf repeated. “And I think,” he continued, “that you could to. Perhaps. If you don’t kill one another first. He’s clearly a fair shot with that bow of his,” he reminded needlessly. Gimli felt the need to cover himself protectively, but resisted. 

Gimli glowered at his father, feeling offended. “I can promise you one thing father,” he said scathinly, “I will never,  _ never _ , befriend an elf.  _ Especially _ not the son of Thranduil!” 

His father ignored his tone out of long practise, staring at him with wise dark eyes. “If you say so son. If you say so.” 

  
  


**###**

**Shortly After the War of the Ring - In Minas Tirith**

Gimli watched as Legolas sat himself on a ledge overlooking the city, face tilted up to the sky. He sighed to himself, heart hurting at the thought of his dearest friend in pain, before casting his mind for some way to distract him. Elves, he’d found, were a bit like cats. Endlessly curious, quick to defend, and also very easily distracted for the most part. 

“Hey laddie,” he said softly. Legolas looked down at him, a gentle smile on his face, before his eyes returned to the stars above. The sun had only recently set, and there was still a faint glow on the horizon. Nevertheless, the stars had begun to emerge, a fact in which Gimli was grateful. He knew they soothed his brother in arms. 

“So,” he continued, hooking his thumbs in his belt. It was a stance he’d copied from his much missed father when he had been very young, and the habit had stuck. “I’m thinking Aragorn needs some sort of distraction,” he said, a wicked idea forming in his mind. 

Legolas looked over at him again, this time with a twinkle of interest in his bright green eyes. To think he’d hated those eyes when they’d first met each other. 

“Oh?” Legolas asked, a small smile growing on his face. 

Gimli nodded, looking over the still war torn Pelennor Fields. “Aye. He’s mighty tense lately. You’d his upcoming coronation was making him nervous or something.” 

Legolas laughed aloud, throwing his blond head back in mirth. Gimli twitched beside him, fighting the urge to pull him off his perch. He’d known Legolas for quite some time now, and had never seen the elf fall. Didn’t mean he liked it when the lad jumped on high places though. 

Curse him. He was starting to sound like his Ma. 

“I think he is more nervous about the wedding, truth be told,” Legolas said. 

Gimli allowed himself to smile. “Aye, that may be it.” He paused for a moment. “Are many elves coming ye reckon?”

Legolas tilted his head in thought, and Gimli was struck anew at how young his ancient companion appeared at times. 

“Lord Elrond certainly, and Elladan and Elrohir will accompany Arwen. It is likely Glorfindel will come as well, and perhaps Erestor.” He paused to think. “Several members of the household will also some, though I am not sure which. And,” he continued, casting Gimli a sly look. “The Lady Galadriel will also be in attendance, along with her husband.” 

Gimli smiled dreamily at the thought of the Lady Galadriel, cause Legolas to giggle helplessly at him. “Why’s she coming?” He asked, curious despite himself. He knew next to nothing of elvish customs and relations still. He’d been grieving in Lorien, still not comfortable around the fair folk, and had concentrated on forging a friendship with Legolas more than observing the other elves around them. Also, he’d wanted to avoid Haldir and his brothers. 

Legolas gave him a startled look. “Why would she not come?” 

Gimli didn’t say anything, but hoped the look he gave Legolas prompted him to answer. Elves could be so peculiar about answering anything. 

Suddenly Legolas began to laugh loudly, drawing the attention of several Citadel guards. He ignored them, instead focusing on his lunatic of an elf. 

“No one told you?” Legolas finally gasped. He had stopped laughing but was still grinning widely, showing off his dimples. 

“Apparently not,” Gimli responded dryly. He did not like being laughed at, but supposed he could forgive Legolas just this once. His goal had been, after all, to cheer his friend up. 

Legolas swung himself around to face Gimli, finally getting off the parapet, much to Gimli’s relief. “Galadriel and Celeborn had one child, who was named Celebrian. She in turn married Elrond at the beginning of the Third Age.”

Gimli began to chuckle. Elves and there agelessness! “I knew she was ancient beyond measure,” he said, “but for some reason did not imagine her with children. She seems to…” He trailed off, unsure how to put what he was thinking into words without seeming rude. He’d seen his friend in Lorien, and knew he was close with the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. 

“I suppose so,” Legolas said in a considering manner. “She has always been something of a second mother to me, before Shadow fell in the Third Age many elves travelled often between Lorien and my home I saw her often. And Celeborn is my grandfather’s cousin.” 

Gimli nodded, putting that information to the side to think about at a later time. “I imagine you ran everyone ragged,” he teased. 

Legolas gave him a look of affronted innocence. “Of course not. The twins did that. I was perfectly well behaved. As was Arwen.” 

Gimli gave his dearest friend a look complete disbelief, and pushed his narrow shoulder playfully. “I am sure,” he grunted. “That is why the twins and Aragorn got pinned to a tree in Rivendell?” 

Legolas’s innocent look faded into deep amusement, and he laughed again. “That they deserved,” he declared. “And probably more.”

“What did they do?” Gimli asked. He hadn’t wanted to know at the time, and so much had happened on the quest that he had not thought of the incident again. But now that he was so close to Legolas and Aragorn, and more familiar with the twins, he was curious. 

Legolas looked slightly sheepish. “They drugged my wine and dipped the ends of my hair in beet juice,” he admitted, touching the ends of his long hair. He was wearing it loose now that the war was over, and the long pale strands danced about in the wind in a riotous mix of waves and curls now that it was not held back in a multitude of braids. Come to think of it, he did remember Legolas wearing his hair tied completely back that beautiful day in Rivendell before the quest…

“Was it still pink when Glorfindel forced you to talk to me and my Da?” 

Legolas shook his head, hair flying everywhere, and his green eyes sparkled in the starlight. “I’d managed to wash most of it out,” he explained. “It took awhile though.” 

“I’m surprised you let them off so lightly,” Gimli noted. Legolas may not be one to anger easily, but he had a wicked and occasionally strange sense of humour. 

“Aragorn was doubtlessly forced into it by the twins,” the elf explained. “He would have thought something like that up as a child though.” 

“Fair enough,” Gimli said. Aragorn did love his sleep. He would not willingly wake up to dye someone’s hair. The twins however…

“Say,” Gimli said, putting his pipe in his mouth. “I’m not lighting it now don’t worry your little head,” he scolded, noticing Legolas’s glare. “Aragorn is seeming rather stressed we’ve decided,” he drawled. 

“That he is, poor man.” 

“He might need to relax a little before all the formal ceremonies begin, don’t you agree?” 

Legolas laughed. “And people think elves are the mischievous ones  _ elvellon _ !” 

Gimli allowed himself a chuckle. “You are, usually. Now,” he continued. “I’ve heard a rumour that you outscore the twins by quite a bit in terms of pranks, and the way I see it, you still owe them a fair bit of retaliation for them dying your hair.”

“One could say that.” 

“I also reckon that Aragorn would like to help get one over those brothers of his. And,” he continued, patting his friend on the arm. “You definitely need some good dwarvish sense.” 

Legolas’s smile was positively wicked. “Shall we go find Aragorn?

Gimli stepped away from Legolas and made a grand gesture, knowing it would amuse his friend. He desperately wanted to keep a smile on the poor elf’s face, and distract him as much as possible from the sea longing that was wracking his very soul. “After you!” 

“Thank you my friend!” Legolas said, bowing jokingly. 

Gimli walked beside him into the halls of Minas Tirith, mind already whirling with ideas. 

“Are any emissaries from the Dwarves coming to the coronation?” Legolas asked suddenly, changing the subject abruptly as he was wont to do. It had angerde Gimli terribly at the beginning of the quest, but now he just found it endearing. 

“Aye,” Gimli responded. “My father and…” he trailed off, eyes widening in horror. 

“Gimli? Mellon-nin?”

Gimli grunted, covering his face with a hand, unable to keep himself from smiling in grim bemusement. 

“Gimli, what is it?” 

Gimli shook himself. “Oh, nothing,” he sighed. “Just realising that my Da really is always right.”    
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are those shots possible? Not for a human, but let’s suspend disbelief and pretend and elf, Legolas in particular, could make them. 
> 
> ALSO, I’m going for Book!Haldir here, who did not go to Helm’s Deep. In fact, no elves went at all! So he’s still alive in my little world, where I happily mix book, film, and my own weird head-canons.
> 
> Loved it? Hated it? Please let me know! I would also REALLY appreciate some more ideas to continue this little collection of one-shots. I’ve had a tough time lately (my mom died about a week ago, and I’ve been trying to distract myself by writing humour and happy things) but I’d love some prompts to have something to do when I’m not struggling through Estate Papers and stuff like that.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted the summary to be "Thranduil fucks with Aragorn's head and drives him nuts" but thought that would be a little bit crass. Maybe next time.
> 
> Obviously not totally film compliant, or book compliant. It's a mix of both, plus my own headcanons. I read the books where I was quite young, and a lot of what I pictures/headcanoned has stayed with me over the years. Like Legolas with green eyes and hair that's just NUTS. Like just super wavy with random curls, and superlong. Gimli nearly suffocated the first time he rides Arod with Legolas wearing his hair loose.
> 
> Loved it? Hated it? Have ideas for more (ANYTHING) involving the Fellowship, friendships, etc…? PLEASE LET ME KNOW! Prompts are more than welcome. :)


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